The Canongate Burns

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by Robert Burns


  20 I like the jads for a’ that! hussies

  For a’ that, an’ a’ that, &c.

  This is signed as the work of Burns in the S.M.M. It is an adapted extract from his cantata, The Jolly Beggars, namely The Bard’s Song.

  Killiecrankie

  Tune: Killiecranckie

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 3, 2nd February, 1790.

  Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad! where have, so fine

  Whare hae ye been sae brankie O? strutting smartly

  Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?

  Cam ye by Killiecrankie O? come

  Chorus

  5 An ye had been whare I hae been, where, have

  Ye wad na been sae cantie O; would not, so cheerful

  An ye had seen what I hae seen, have

  On the braes o’ Killiecrankie O. hill slopes

  I faught at land, I faught at sea,

  10 At hame I faught my Auntie, O; home

  But I met the Devil and Dundee

  On th’ braes o’ Killiecrankie, O. hill slopes

  An ye had been, &c.

  ‘The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, bold, dep ditch

  An’ Clavers gat a clankie, O; blow

  15 Or I had fed an Athole Gled hawk

  On th’ braes o’ Killiecrankie, O. hill slopes

  An ye had been, &c.

  Although Burns visited the scene of this battle in the Autumn of 1787, during his Highland tour, it is uncertain how much of this song is his. He left no commentary and the remarks in the Interleaved S.M.M. are by Robert Riddell, who noted that the battle occurred on 27th July 1689 between the Jacobite forces of Graham of Claverhouse (Bonnie Dundee) and the Hanoverian loyalists led by General Mackay. As Kinsley states, the song is written in the voice of ‘one of Mackay’s men saved only by the deaths, in pursuit, of Claverhouse and Haliburton of Pitcur’ (Vol. III, no. 313, p. 1340).

  Willie Brew’d a Peck o’ Maut

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 3, 2nd February, 1790.

  O, Willie brewed a peck o’ maut, malt

  And Rob and Allan cam to see; came

  Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night, live-long

  Ye wad na found in Christendie. would not

  Chorus

  5 We are na fou, we’re nae that fou, not full/drunk, not drunk

  But just a drappie in our e’e; droplet, eye

  The cock may craw, the day may daw, crow, dawn

  And ay we’ll taste the barley bree. -brew

  Here are we met, three merry boys,

  10 Three merry boys I trow are we; pledge

  And monie a night we’ve merry been,

  And monie mae we hope to be! more

  We are na fou, &c.

  It is the moon, I ken her horn, know

  That’s blinkin in the lift sae hie; glinting, sky, high

  15 She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, so, lure, home

  But, by my sooth she’ll wait a wee! word, while

  We are na fou, &c.

  Wha first shall rise to gang awa, who, go away

  A cuckold, coward loun is he! fool

  Wha first beside his chair shall fa’, who, fall

  20 He is the king amang us three! among

  We are na fou, &c.

  The music to this drinking song is by Allan Masterton, one of the poet’s Edinburgh friends, who, with the poet, is alluded to in the first stanza. The brewer of this Bacchanalian song, Willie, is William Nicol, the Latin teacher at Edinburgh High School. The song celebrates a convivial evening when the three friends met in Moffat where Nicol was on holiday.

  The Day Returns –

  For Robert Riddell’s Wedding Anniversary

  Tune: Seventh of November

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 3, 2nd February, 1790.

  The day returns, my bosom burns,

  The blissful day we twa did meet; two

  Tho’ Winter wild in tempest toil’d,

  Ne’er simmer-sun was half sae sweet: so

  5 Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,

  And crosses o’er the sultry Line;

  Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes,

  Heav’n gave me more — it made thee mine.

  While day and night can bring delight,

  10 Or Nature aught of pleasure give;

  While Joys Above, my mind can move,

  For Thee and Thee alone I live!

  When that grim foe of Life below

  Comes in between to make us part;

  15 The iron hand that breaks our Band,

  It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart!

  This lyric was written by Burns to accompany a melody composed by his friend Robert Riddell of Glenriddell on his wedding anniversary, which fell on 7th November – hence the name of the tune. Burns was an intimate friend of the Riddells: ‘At their fire-side I have enjoyed more pleasant evenings than at all the houses of fashionable people in this country put together … many of the happiest hours of my life’ (quoted by Cromek, p. 269, from Burns’s notes in the Interleaved Scots Musical Museum). The song is sung as from the lips of Robert Riddell to his wife. Ll. 7–8 are also politically apposite to Burns’s relationship to Robert Riddell.

  The Blue-Eyed Lassie

  Tune: The Blathrie O’ ’t

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 3, 2nd February, 1790.

  I gaed a waefu’ gate, yestreen, went, doleful, way, last night

  A gate, I fear, I’ll dearly rue;

  I gat my death frae twa sweet een, got, from two, eyes

  Twa lovely een o’ bonie blue. two, eyes

  ‘Twas not her golden ringlets bright,

  Her lips like roses, wat wi’ dew, wet

  Her heaving bosom, lily-white,

  It was her een sae bonie blue. eyes so

  She talk’d, she smil’d, my heart she wyl’d,

  She charm’d my soul I wist na how; know not

  And ay the stound, the deadly wound, heart ache

  Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. came from, eyes so

  But spare to speak, and spare to speed; shy & inattentive

  She’ll aiblins listen to my vow: maybe

  Should she refuse, I’ll lay my dead

  To her twa een sae bonie blue. two eyes so

  This was composed on Jean Jaffray (1773–1850), daughter of Rev. Andrew Jaffray, minister at Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire. The initial air by Robert Riddell was changed to The Blathrie O’ ’t in Thomson’s version.

  Tam Glen

  Tune: Merry Beggars

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 3, 2nd February, 1790.

  My heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, sister

  Some counsel unto me come len’; lend

  To anger them a’ is a pity,

  But what will I do wi’ Tam Glen? —

  5 I’m thinking, wi’ sic a braw fellow, such, fine

  In poortith I might mak a fen’: poverty, shift

  What care I in riches to wallow,

  If I mauna marry Tam Glen. — may not

  There’s Lowrie the laird o’ Dumeller,

  10 ‘Guid day to you, brute’ he comes ben: good, on

  He brags and he blaws o’ his siller, boasts, money

  But when will he dance like Tam Glen. —

  My minnie does constantly deave me, mother, chide

  And bids me beware o’ young men;

  15 They flatter, she says, to deceive me,

  But wha can think sae o’ Tam Glen. — who, so

  My Daddie says, gin I’ll forsake him, if

  He’d gie me gude hunder marks ten: give, good

  But if it’s ordain’d I maun take him, must

  20 O wha will I get but Tam Glen? who

  Yestreen at the Valentines’ dealing,1 last night

  My heart to my mou gied a sten; mouth gave, leap

  For thrice I drew ane without failing, one

  And thrice it was written, Tam Glen. —

  25 The last Halloween I was wauki
n waken/watching

  My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; drenched shirt-, know

  His likeness came up the house staukin, image, stalking

  And the very grey breeks o’ Tam Glen! trousers

  Come, counsel, dear Tittie, don’t tarry; sister

  30 I’ll gie ye my bonie black hen, give

  Gif ye will advise me to Marry if

  The lad I lo’e dearly, Tam Glen. — love

  Burns sent this original dramatic lyric to Johnson in November 1788. A characteristic theme of Burns’s women’s songs is the matrimonial choice of love as opposed to wealth. Aided by the psychic forces occassioned by the Valentine’s lottery and the Halloween rituals, the girl is not to be denied her materially poor lover. ‘Brute’ is restored in l. 10 as earlier editors suppressed this female denunciation of a social superior.

  1 An old custom of sweethearts being chosen by lot on St. Valentine’s Day. R.B.

  The Banks of Nith

  Tune: Robie donna gorach

  First printed in the S.M.M., Vol. 3, 2nd February, 1790.

  The Thames flows proudly to the sea,

  Where royal cities stately stand;

  But sweeter flows the Nith, to me,

  Where Cummins ance had high command: once

  5 When shall I see that honor’d Land,

  That winding Stream I love so dear!

  Must wayward Fortune’s adverse hand

  For ever, ever keep me here.

  How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,

  10 Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom;

  And sweetly spread thy sloping dales

  Where lambkins wanton thro’ the broom!

  Tho’ wandering now must be my doom,

  Far from thy bonie banks and braes, hill slopes

  15 May there my latest hours consume

  Amang my friends of early days! among

  This was, as Burns told Mrs Dunlop, his first compliment to the river Nith, written on 20th August 1788. Cummins (l. 4) is Bruce’s rival, The Red Comyn.

  Prologue Spoken at the Theatre of Dumfries

  On New Year’s Day Evening, 1790

  First printed in The St. James’s Chronicle & British Evening Post,14th January, 1790.

  No song nor dance I bring from yon great city,

  That queens it o’er our taste — the more’s the pity:

  Tho’ by the bye, abroad why will you roam?

  Good sense and taste are natives here at home.

  5 But not for panegyric I appear,

  I come to wish you all a good New Year!

  Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,

  Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:

  The sage grave Ancient cough’d, and bade me say,

  10 ‘You’re one year older this important day,’

  If wiser too — he hinted some suggestion,

  But ’twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;

  And with a would-be-roguish leer and wink,

  He bade me on you press this one word — ‘THINK!’

  15 Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit,

  Who think to storm the world by dint of merit,

  To you the dotard has a deal to say,

  In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way!

  He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle

  20 That the first blow is ever half the battle;

  That tho’ some by the skirt may try to snatch him,

  Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him;

  That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing,

  You may do miracles by persevering.

  25 Last, tho’ not least in love, ye youthful fair,

  Angelic forms, high Heaven’s peculiar care!

  To you old Bald-Pate smoothes his wrinkled brow,

  And humbly begs you’ll mind the important — Now!

  To crown your happiness he asks your leave,

  30 And offers, bliss to give and to receive.

  For our sincere, tho’ haply weak endeavours,

  With grateful pride we own your many favours;

  And howsoe’er our tongues may ill reveal it,

  Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.

  George Sutherland was manager of the Dumfries Theatre (the old theatre referred to here no longer exists, but the new theatre subscribed for during 1790 still stands). Burns got in touch with Sutherland, knowing the theatre was playing on New Year’s Day, 1790, and enclosed an early draft of the above. The poet appears to have been in the audience that evening and wrote to his brother Gilbert on 11th January, 1790, remarking ‘On Newyearday evening I gave him the following Prologue which he spouted to his Audience with great applause’ (Letter 381).

  Johnie Cope

  First printed in S.M.M., Vol. 3, 1790.

  Sir John Cope trod the north right far

  Yet ne’er a rebel he cam naur, near

  Until he landed at Dunbar

  Right early in the morning.

  Chorus

  5 Hey Johnie Cope are ye waulking yet, wakened

  Or are ye sleeping I would wit;

  O haste ye get up for the drums do beat,

  O fye Cope rise in the morning.

  He wrote a challenge from Dunbar,

  10 Come fight me Charlie an ye daur; dare

  If it be not by the chance of war

  I’ll give you a merry morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  When Charlie look’d the letter upon

  He drew his sword the scabbard from —

  15 ‘So Heaven restore me to my own,

  I’ll meet you, Cope, in the morning’.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  Cope swore with many a bloody word

  That he would fight them gun and sword,

  But he fled from his nest like an ill scar’d bird,

  20 And Johnie he took wing in the morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  It was upon an afternoon,

  Sir Johnie march’d to Preston town;

  He says, my lads come lean you down,

  And we’ll fight the boys in the morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  25 But when he saw the Highland lads

  Wi’ tartan trews and white cokauds, cockades/white rose

  Wi swords and guns and rungs and gauds, cudgels, goads

  O Johnie he took wing in the morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  On the morrow when he did rise,

  30 He look’d between him and the skies;

  He saw them wi their naked thighs,

  Which fear’d him in the morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  O then he flew into Dunbar,

  Crying for a man of war; ship

  35 He thought to have pass’d for a rustic tar, sailor

  And gotten awa in the morning. away

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  Sir Johnie into Berwick rade, rode

  Just as the devil had been his guide;

  Gien him the warld he would na stay’d given, world, not

  40 To foughten the boys in the morning. fight

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  Says the Berwickers unto Sir John,

  O what’s become of all your men,

  In faith, says he, I dinna ken, do not know

  I left them a’ this morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  45 Says Lord Mark Car, ye are na blate, not shy

  To bring us the news o’ your ain defeat; own

  I think you deserve the back o’ the gate,

  Get out o’ my sight this morning.

  Hey Johnie Cope &c.

  This is the poet’s reworked version of an old, popular Jacobite ballad, most of which is traditional. Johnie Cope was Sir John Cope, General of the Hanoverian army defeated at the battle of Preston-pans in 1745 by the Jacobites.

  O Dear Minny, What Shall I Do?

  First printed in S.M.M. Vol. 3, 1790.

  O de
ar Minny, what shall I do?

  O dear Minny, what shall I do?

  O dear Minny, what shall I do?

  Daft thing, doylt thing, do as I do. — stupid

  5 If I be black, I canna be lo’ed; cannot, loved

  If I be fair, I canna be gude;

  If I be lordly, the lads will look by me:

  O dear Minny, what shall I do. —

  O dear Minny, &c.

  Burns adapted this woman’s song from a lyric in Herd’s 1769 collection.

  I’ll Make You be Fain to Follow Me

  First printed in S.M.M. Vol. 3, 1790.

  Tune: I’ll Make You be Fain to Follow Me

  As late by a sodger I chanced to pass, soldier

  I heard him a courtin a bony young lass;

  My hinny, my life, my dearest, quo he, darling

  I’ll mak you be fain to follow me.

  Gin I should follow you, a poor sodger lad, if

  Ilk ane o my cummers wad think I was mad; each, one, wenches, would

  For battles I never shall lang to see, long

  I’ll never be fain to follow thee. glad

  To follow me, I think ye may be glad,

  A part o my supper, a part o my bed,

  A part o my bed, wherever it be,

  I’ll mak you be fain to follow me. glad

  Come try my knapsack on your back,

  Alang the king’s high-gate we’ll pack; along

  Between Saint Johnston and bony Dundee, Perth

 

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